


I Vow To Thee My Country

by Kateface



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, M/M, ww1 au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-07
Updated: 2014-01-16
Packaged: 2017-12-07 18:52:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/751861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kateface/pseuds/Kateface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ASOIAF WW1 AU. </p><p>Title taken from the poem/song by Cecil Spring-Rice.</p><p>The year is 1914 and for the chosen few life is for the taking. They stand on the precipice of life, ready to jump in with both feet but before they get the chance the Great War tears their lives apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the hard to understand world of Edwardian heirarchy this is where we all stand:
> 
> Duke > Earl > Baron > New Money.
> 
> ~~~
> 
> Lannister - Dukes of Avon.
> 
> Targaeryon – Dukes of Cheshire
> 
> Stark – Earl of Northumberland
> 
> Arryn – Earl of Carmenthenshire
> 
> Frey – Barons of Leicestershire
> 
> Tyrell - New money – newspapers
> 
> Baratheon - New money – cotton
> 
> Martell - New money

The sun came streaming through the high windows of Highgarden, the gentle rays warming Margaery’s skin as she slowly became aware of the world around her. Pulling the cord that hung above her head she climbed out of bed and made her way towards her wardrobe. Leafing through her dresses she considered the merits of each for a moment before moving onto the next one. Looking up as the door opened she beamed across at Betsy, “I think the lilac silk for today, Betsy.” She said as she turned away from her clothes.

Ignoring the knowing little smile on her maids face as she walked past the young lady of the house and made her way through to the bathroom to run her bath. Sticking a hand under the tap Betsy ensured the water was at the correct temperature, Miss Margaery liked things just so. “And will Master Robb be attending today?” She shouted through from the bathroom.

Hiding her grin well Margaery swept into the bathroom, “One would assume he would be attending his own mother’s garden party.” She answered nonchalantly.

~~~

The journey to Riverrun did not take long, not in the new motor car that Mace was so proud of. He sat in the back pleased as punch and it was all Margaery could do not to roll her eyes. She loved her father, she truly did but he was not well versed at disguising his pride or his intentions. It could verge on embarrassing sometimes.

Today it would just be the two of them and Margaery could not be happier. With her mother and grandmother she felt as though she was constantly being watched, as though they could see through all of her plots and ploys but Mace only saw his little girl. To him she would always be the seven year old who had dragged him out of his study to watch her trot around on her horse. He didn’t see that ten years had passed and his little girl had grown up under the tutelage of his own mother.

The car pulled up the gravel drive and Margaery felt her stomach leap at the sight of the old house. The car came to a smooth stop and the door was opened by the footmen wearing their liveries of Tully blue and red. Margaery stepped out and waited a moment for her father to join her on the drive. Taking his arm they made their way up to the grand entrance. It was not as half as luxurious as Highgarden but Riverrun had a rustic kind of charm.

They swept into the conservatory and were announced, “Mister and Miss Tyrell.” Mace inclined his head to the small crowd as Margaery gave a slight curtsey beside him. They were acknowledged by the crowded room, the odd face recognisable and friendly. 

For every friendly face there were two unfriendly. She knew the opinions, had heard the whispers amongst the other families. The Tyrell’s were too presumptuous, they were gaudy and worst of all their crimes, they were new money. The Lannisters and the Tullys and the Starks had been someone worth talking about for hundreds of years, the Tyrells were mere upstarts who had appeared in the last 60 years yet somehow held more power than the rest of them combined.

Luthor Tyrell had established a very successful newspaper in the wake of the Crimean War and it had gone from strength to strength. Once the backbone of his empire was established Luthor let the world see his ambition. He swept up failing newspapers (normally regional), and turned them around; he shook them up, changed the way they worked and made them profitable. If he’d grown attached to the people he kept hold of it and if not he sold for a tidy profit. He did it so quietly that the Lannisters, and the Tullys and the Starks only noticed him once the reins of their world were firmly in his hands. 

It was into this sometimes resentful atmosphere that Margaery, and any member of her family entered a room. The atmosphere was particularly thick when they attended an event at Casterly Rock but not today, never at an event held by the Starks Margaery thought with a smile. Catelyn approached them a warm smile looking as radiant as ever, “Mr Tyrell!” She beamed her eyes flicking across to Margaery, “I’m so glad you could make it, and with Margaery as well.” She inclined her head towards the younger woman and Margaery returned the gesture and greeting.

Sharp hazel eyes spotted the tell-tale sign that her father was about to open his mouth, stepping in Margaery covered his words smoothly with her own, “We are only sorry that it is just us. My brothers are all working and mother had a prior engagement, they do send their apologies.” Catelyn smiled graciously, “There is no need to apologise, my dear.” Her blue eyes flicked across to something at the back of the room, a collar off centre perhaps, or a drooping napkin. “If you’ll excuse me.” Catelyn asked before sweeping across the room and Margaery was left with her father for company.

~~~~~

Margaery had eventually managed to corner him a few hours in to the event after she had flitted between Baratheons, Freys, Lannisters and Arryns. Robb Stark, Viscount of Northumberland and one of the most eligible bachelors in England. That was the reason that Mace pushed Margaery towards him at any social event they both happened to be at and Margaery didn’t complain. She didn’t complain because she saw the sense in it, she didn’t complain because she wanted to be the next Countess of Northumberland and she didn’t complain because she wanted to live in a house as grand as Winterfell one day. But mostly she didn’t complain because of the way he smiled at her every time she approached him across a crowded room.

“Miss Tyrell.” He said giving her a small formal bow and she had to fight to supress the grin that threatened to bloom on her face. He was always so stiff, terrified of letting his guard down but Margaery had seen the odd chink of light escape. It showed in the way that his hand often lingered on her waist as he led her to and from the dance floor, or the way that he often found himself lost in conversation with the youngest Tyrell. “I hope you are well?” He asked his tone piqued in genuine interest.

Sipping daintily at her glass of lemonade Margaery waited a second to reply. “Indeed it, my lord.” Robb shook his head that blush that she so adored creeping across his skin, “How many times do I have to tell you there really is no need.” Shaking her head Margaery would never cease to be amazed at the naivety of the boy, “Yes there is, Robb.” She said a patient smile on her face.

He blushes a deeper shade of red at that and swiftly changes the subject asking after her brothers. Within moments they are both so lost in the moment that they miss two sets of eyes watching them intently. Mace stands and watches his youngest weave her charms around the Stark boy and he can’t hide the small smile. Stood at the opposite side of the room Catelyn Stark looks on concerned as Robb makes a fool of himself all over the Tyrell girl again.


	2. Flora

Margaery could remember a time when the morning post had been something she looked forward to, but now it was only a thing of dread. Every morning awaited her with news of another tragedy, another dead man (boy in reality they were just _boys_ ), another friend gone never to return. 

It was all such a waste. It was supposed to be over by Christmas, but here they were a year down the line. Boys slept and lived and wept and bled and died in the mud crying out for their mothers and it was all such a _waste_. Margaery had lost count of the number of men ( _boys_ ) she would never see again. Once she had danced with them, she had flirted with them, she had even kissed some of them but now they lay forgotten in fields in France.

The worst thing about it all was the horrid relief she felt every morning as she read the letters and didn’t see their names.

Garlan.

Loras.

_Robb._

They had all joined up as soon as the war had broken out, eager to do their duty, eager to serve King and country and most importantly eager to lead their men into battle. The Government had established pals brigades, men from the same village or factory or shop would all fight together and where possible they would be led by men they knew. Margaery couldn’t remember any of them being so eager to throw themselves in front of machine guns, or to watch the men they had grown up with used as cannon fodder, or to live their lives to a soundtrack of none stop shells and artillery.

Steeling herself for todays bad news she came down to breakfast and smiled at her brother. “Good Morning, Willas.” She said her voice laced with cheer that she did not feel. As much as she despised the khaki uniforms she had to admit that Willas cut a dashing figure as he broke the top from his egg. Looking up he returned her easy smile, “Morning, Margy.” He said as she sat down and poured herself a cup of tea.

It was just the two of them for now and they sat in companionable silence like they always had. When they were younger Willas would sit for hours with Margaery in the library. Talk to her about science and politics, all of the things her governess would not. He would pull books from the shelves and instruct her that he would be discussing its contents with her the next week. Willas had taught her much and more about the world and she adored him for it.

For years the Tyrells had cursed the polio that had crippled their eldest son but it seemed that now it would be his saving grace. On account of their families infinite influence Willas still managed to play his part in the war effort. He had a desk somewhere in London from behind which he coordinated the reporting of the war. Under the Defence of the Realm Act the government were able to select what information newspapers could and could not report and Willas was part of the team that attempted to oversee that; a somewhat uncomfortable position for the heir of a newspaper empire to say the least. 

Parker walked in and smiled down at the eldest and youngest Tyrell, “Good Morning.” He nodded and Margaery had to avoid Willas’ gaze to save herself from giggling. Parker had been the butler at Highgarden for as long as Margaery could remember and she could swear that he got more pompous as each year passed; Father adored him of course. He set to work silently as Margaery caught up with her brother. He dropped a small pile of letters at Willas’ elbow, left a much larger pile by her father’s seat which meant the rest were hers.

Lifting a hand she accepted them gracefully and thanked the stiff butler. Flipping through the letters she felt her heart soar as she spotted handwriting that was far more familiar than it should be. Pocketing the letter she stowed it away for later certain that she saw Willas’ eyes flick towards the practiced movement of her hand. If he did notice he had the grace to not say a word. She would save that letter for later, for a private moment away from prying eyes.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur the letter in her pocket seeming to pulse making its presence know. She took a short turn around the gardens with Willas and waved him goodbye as he made his way for the station to be stolen back to London and the war. As sad as she was to see her eldest brother go she dug her hand into the pocket of her dress and wrapped her hand around the letter. She turned and took the steps two at a time, reminiscent of the way she moved around the house as a child. 

Once she was safely closeted inside her room door shutting the world out she is able to finally pull the letter out of hiding. She spends a moment looking at it, allowing an elegant thumb to rub over the cursive lettering and finds herself catching a laugh that bubbles past her lips with her free hand. She didn’t know how it had happened, but Robb Stark had been writing to her for the last year. 

The last time she had seen him was at the grand farewell ball held at Casterly Rock. _‘A fitting send off for our brave boys’_ ; apparently only the officers were considered worthy of such a send-off she had thought at the time. She had been saying her goodbyes and making to leave when he had pulled her to one side and asked if he could write to her whilst he was away. He wasn’t the only boy to ask that question that night but he was the only one she’d said yes to.

She had wondered whether his family were aware but they can’t have been. It wasn’t that the Starks disliked her, they had never been anything but welcoming to Margaery and her family but she saw the looks that Robb missed. The looks that Catelyn Stark threw their way whenever they danced together one too many times at a ball, or when Robb laughed a little too loudly at one of her jokes and brought the attention of the room down on them. They liked Margery well enough but as an interesting dinner party guest, she would not do for a daughter in law. She also saw the way they pushed Myrcella Baratheon towards Robb at every opportunity. She might have missed it had it not been so reminiscent of the way Mace Tyrell had pushed Margaery towards him.

Running a finger beneath the flap of the envelope Margaery pulled the letter out and was surprised as something red fell into her lap. Frowning slightly she lifted it up and smiled. It was a poppy, dried and pressed and hidden between the sheets of paper. Margaery felt a ridiculous giddiness creep up her spine and refused to stamp it down like her instinct told her she should. Right here in this moment she could feel whatever she wanted to feel. It was her moment. It was _their_ moment. What harm would it do to indulge herself for half an hour? Unfolding the paper she drank in every word, committing it to memory like she did all of his letters.

He spoke of home, and France; very little of France and even less of the trenches ( _But you do not wish to hear about the war and I do not wish to write about it._ ). He spoke of hope and desire; a hope that this wretched war would end soon and a desire to visit Highgarden ( _I have heard great talk of your families walled gardens. Is it true there is a hedge maze? I would like very much to visit one day, if I am welcome_ ). He spoke of a great many things until eventually he explained the dried flower that sat on the eiderdown beside her. ( _I enclose a poppy that I picked with you in mind. It is the only thing that grows around here, the only chink of colour that we get in a sea of brown. It brings such hope to the men, in the same way that you do to me. A flower for my rose._ )

Margaery lifted the delicate flower with careful fingers and held it close to her face for inspection. _A flower for my rose._ Falling back against the soft sheets she allowed herself to beam at the ceiling as she planned her reply.


	3. Confessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're reading and enjoying please leave comments. I love hearing them. <3

The hardest part about it all was keeping it a secret. Margaery was often expected to play her cards close to her chest, but there were always people she could talk to about things. Her grandmother, her brothers, her cousins. This was the first thing she had kept from any of them and it felt wonderful and awful at the same time. Margaery Tyrell had fallen head over heels for Robb Stark and she couldn’t tell a soul.

They were coming home. Not all of them, and not indefinitely but they were coming home. She would see her brothers again, they could sit out in the gardens and they would tease her mercilessly and she would let them because they were coming home. Her thoughts should be full of Loras and Garlan but they kept coming back to the most recent letter she had received from Robb. 

He was going to be home too for a few weeks at least and he wanted to see her. She had reminded him in her reply that as far as anyone was concerned they hadn’t spoken since he left, it would not do for him to turn up at Highgarden (but I am sure we will see one another several times.) 

And she hadn’t been wrong.

~~~~~

Margaery entered the imposing entrance hall of Casterly Rock and smiled to the small crowd as she was announced. A few in the crowd turned their heads and smiled their way as Margaery clung to Willas’ arm. She smiled up at her brother as they entered the room, the clacking of his cane on the marble floor echoing off the walls. Of all the places she had visited Casterly Rock was the coldest. She had never attended an event here that hadn’t left her feeling uncomfortable or insulted or angry and it was normally thanks to Cersei Lannister. 

Willas squeezed her hand a little tighter as he watched her pull the invisible mask over her features. In an instant she stopped being Margy, the little girl he had read endless books to until she fell asleep on his lap and she became Margaery Tyrell, the society girl who could charm the birds out of the trees if she so desired. He couldn’t pinpoint the change in her, couldn’t point to the slope of her shoulder or the set of her jaw but he knew it had happened and seeing it take place made him a little sad. Before he had time to ponder the enigma that was his little sister he was pulled into conversation by Edmure Tully.

As soon as her name was announced Robb stood from the uncomfortable sofa he was sat on and immediately blushed as his father raised an eyebrow in surprise. Margaery didn’t turn her head to acknowledge him but he was sure that he could see the ghost of a smile on her face as she greeted Wylla Manderly and he could feel the blush flame across his cheeks. He is avoiding his father’s curious looks when she turns her head and her eyes meet his for a split second as a half-smile grows on her face. 

In that moment it was as though the whole room disappeared and all he could see was her. She was more beautiful than he remembered. She smiled at him properly and it stole the breath from his lungs for a second. He had become so familiar with death and mud and despair that he had forgotten that this life had carried on, the endless rounds of parties and dinners and passive aggressive social climbing. A deep chuckle and a tug at his sleeve brings his attention back to the room, looking down into his father’s deep grey eyes he feels foolish. “Sit down, son.” He says good naturedly, “I do believe you’re making Miss Tyrell blush.” As he sits back down on the lumpy sofa he can’t help but smile at the knowledge that he is able to make Margaery Tyrell blush.

Before long the guests are called through to the dining room by and shown to their seats. The fact that Robb is sat high up the table beside Myrcella Baratheon whilst she is banished to the far end of the table between two nondescript Frey cousins is not lost on Margaery. She tries to quash the jealousy down but as she watches Myrcella listen intently and nod along and simper at his jokes she can’t help it. She knew she shouldn’t, she knew it wasn’t Myrcellas fault that she had been placed there. It wasn’t Myrcellas fault that Catelyn Stark was smiling at her in a way she would never smile at Margaery when she was sat with Robb but she couldn’t help but hate her for it.  
As lunch passed Margaery couldn’t help but cast subtle glances to the top end of the table. She should be giving her full attention to the Frey on either side of her but her gaze was constantly being pulled towards Robb Stark and the Baratheon girl. Stabbing at her chicken in a rather unladylike way she covers the action with a quick comment that sets them both laughing and as she smiles at them she misses the look that he gives her.

Lunch passed routinely and Robb held off for as long as he could before he made his way to find her. Having worked up the courage to finally speak to her he was disappointed to not locate her quickly. Poking his head into several rooms he managed to avoid conversations with anyone before he spotted a lone figure stood out on the terrace. As he joined her outside he understands why she is alone as he feels the autumn chill in the air. He thinks of men stood ankle deep in mud with no protection from the bitter wind that was on its way. 

He closed his eyes and shook the unbidden memories away as he turned his gaze onto Margaery. He wasn’t there, not for now he was here stood on a terrace with quite possibly the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Her slender arms are wrapped around chest protecting herself from the cool autumn breeze and he so wants to place an arm over her shoulder to help. She is looking out over the lawns clearly deep in thought. “And how do they compare?” He asked quietly as he approached her slowly blue eyes clashing with hazel ones as her head twisting around in surprise, “To your family’s gardens? They are famed after all.”

She opened her mouth to speak and nothing came out. He was stood before her in all his military regalia and he looked so handsome that it took her breath away for a moment. Quickly regaining her composure she smiled up at him suddenly feeling very shy. It was ridiculous really, she’s wanted nothing more than to see him for two years and now he was stood here before her she couldn’t even answer a simple question. Finally finding her voice she smiled, “These are barely even gardens,” She flicked an eye to the insignia on his uniform, “Captain Stark.” Her brow creased for a second he’d never mentioned a promotion.

Turning back to look at the flowerless garden (and away from his face) she spoke, “Perhaps I can show you them next week?” His head turned quickly to look at her again a questioning look on his face. Before he can speak she explains, “We’re to hold a ball.” She said before turning to look back over the lawns, “Your invite should be arriving at Winterfell this week” She said with a grin that he matched. “I would love to see your family’s gardens.” He said never tearing his eyes from her face, “I hear Tyrell roses are incomparable to any other.”

She turned and looked up at him as they stood shoulder to shoulder before reaching out for his hand. She intended to give it a squeeze but only had time to brush a finger across his knuckles before Willas appeared calling her name. Snatching her hand back she looked over her shoulder towards her brother apparently the motor car was ready to take them home. 

Hiding the deep sigh that threatened Margaery looked up at Robb and gave him a secret little smile, “I do hope I see you next week?” She asked turning away before he was able to answer. She ignored the pointed look Willas gives her as she climbed into the car and proceeded to ask him questions about Sansa Stark that made him blush.

~~~~~

The week between the luncheon at Casterly Rock and the ball at Highgarden passes in an unbearably slow fashion. She is kept busy with preparations but the memory of the smile Robb gave her as she left Casterly Rock kept distracting her to the point that her mother asked her what was on her mind. She covered her back easily before bustling towards the ballroom to avoid any further questions. 

The day of the ball finally arrived and Margaery received a letter addressed in a familiar hand that had her rushing up to her room and shutting the world out. Tearing the letter open she watched as a purple patch floated onto her lap. Lifting it up she inspected it closely before reading the note that it had come with (A violet courtesy of Winterfell because you deserve more than the offerings of a warzone.)  
The grin on Margaery’s face was commented on several times throughout the day and she could not care less.

~~~~~

The night of the Tyrell ball came and went in a blur. The family lined up to greet their guests; all six of them lined up to greet their guests for the first time in two years. Her brothers all look beyond handsome in their uniforms and Margaery looks stunning in green silk. She smiled, and chatted and danced just as she was expected to do but her eyes kept flicking over to the spot that Robb was seemingly rooted by his brother. He didn’t once ask her to dance and she didn’t mind until he floated past her on the dance floor with Myrcella Baratheon hanging from his neck. 

Garlan frowned across at her as she dug her fingers into his shoulder. “Everything OK, M?” He asked as he twirled her around the centre of the floor never missing a step as he questioned her. Rearranging her features she smiled at her brother and nodded, “How can it not be? You’re here aren’t you?” She said and he squeezed her arm tight. “Don’t M, you’ll make me cry.” He teased and she couldn’t remember the last time she had been so happy to be poked fun at. She danced with Garlan one more time before he disappeared to find Leonette and was only allowed a reprieve once Loras had danced with her twice.

Giddy and out of breath she made her way to the edge of the room in the hope of avoiding being caught and taken towards the dance floor for just five minutes. He snuck up on her and she was irritated that she had allowed it to happen again. “I hope your brothers haven’t worn you out too much, Miss Tyrell?” He asked his voice playful as he brushed his knuckle against hers.

Turning to look up at him all she could see was the smile on Myrcella Baratheon’s face as she skipped past her on the dance floor. Pursing her lips she assumed an air of propriety she hadn’t shared with Robb for a number of years, “Not at all, My Lord.” Her look was pinched as she glared at him, “If you’ll excuse me, Captain.” She said as she grabbed a handful of skirts and made her way out of the ballroom not thinking about where she was going. He frowned down at her blindsided by her reaction to him and stood there stunned for a second. But as she made her way out of the door he did the most rash thing he had ever done in his life, he followed her. 

She could hear his boots tapping on the parquet floor just behind her and she twisted through the corridors in a bid to try and lose him. She walked past the parlour and the dining room, finally making her way into the library. She panics when she realises Willas wasn’t hiding in here like he normally did during balls. Damn Sansa Stark.  
The door clicked closed behind her and she turned on the spot irritated that he had managed to keep up with her. “Have I done something to offend you, Miss Tyrell?” He asked trying to disguise the concern in his tone. “No. But you should get back to the ball,” She said somehow managing to keep the irritation out of her voice as she answered him, “You wouldn’t want Miss Baratheon to get the wrong impression!” By the time she finished she was glaring at him and her fists were clenched at her side.

He at least had the good grace to look shocked before he started to laugh. “Myrcella?” he asked as he ran a hand through his hair. “Why would Myrcella care about where I am?” And then it was Margaerys turn to snort, “Even you can’t be that blind!” She snapped waving a hand towards the door indicating the party they had both just left walking forwards as she spoke. “They might as well have the pair of you dressed in all your finery and marching up the aisle!” And she hated the shrill tone her voice was edging towards. She couldn’t explain the bitter feeling that sat in her chest all sticky and toxic and it terrified her.

“Are you jealous?” He asked a little amused and she rounded on him covering what little ground remained between them now. She punctuated every word with a finger in his chest as she answered his accusation, “I am no such thing!” She denied as her face flamed with colour, “I wouldn’t want to disrupt the best laid plans of Cersei Baratheon and your mother!” She snapped avoiding his gaze as he frowned at her. She knew it was ridiculous but honestly for some reason she couldn’t stop and she hated herself for it. A Tyrell was not weak and a Tyrell was not ruled by their emotions.

She opened her mouth to continue but before she knew what was happening he had slid a hand into her hair and cradled the back of her head gently. He looked at her for a moment as she stared up at him in shock his blue eyes running across every peak and valley of her face before he pressed his lips to hers. It was sweet and chaste and gentle and it should have been unremarkable, but Lord it wasn’t. It was as though there was a tension surrounding them that had suddenly snapped. In that moment he was no longer Robb Stark, Viscount of Northumberland and Captain of the Winterfell Brigade but he was the author of all of the letters she had hidden away in her drawers upstairs. He was the boy who spoke of his family and his home, the boy who sent her pressed flowers and called her his rose.  
He was hers.

Lifting her arms Margaery grabbed fistfuls of his lapels and pulled him down opening her mouth beneath his and she immediately forgot all about Myrcella and Catelyn and Cersei. All that she could focus on was inside this room right now. She swallowed his moan as he looped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer still. All at once her skin felt hot and clammy but pleasantly so. Pulling back he frowned slightly as he ran a thumb down her cheek and tried to memorise everything about this moment. “Don’t let them bully you, Robb.” She said quietly earning herself a confused frown in response, “Your mother, the Lannisters,” She explained in little more than a whisper. “Don’t let them push Myrcella on you unless you want to marry her.” Looking at her morosely he took her words on board lifting a hand to cup her cheek and run his thumb across her bottom lip. “I don’t want to marry her.” He said quietly replacing his thumb with his mouth.


	4. Comfort

Margaery sipped her tea and replaced the china cup in its saucer. Her mother had taken breakfast in bed, as was a married woman’s right so Margaery found herself alone with the men of her family as she so often had in her life. Her father and Willas had their heads stuck in the paper as Margaery concentrated on buttering her slice of toast. She looked up as the post was brought in and thanked Parker for her letters.

Flipping through them quickly she tried not to feel too disappointed as she found only invitations and letters from others. She frowned slightly, it had been weeks since Robbs last letter but she pushed the worry away. He was fighting a war; he didn’t have time to write her a letter every week. Flipping through her invitations she sighed as she recognised the same names and the same venues. It all seemed so ridiculous, to carry on with all of this whilst there was a war going on over the sea. Tearing a letter from Megga open Margaery opened the pages and began to read the news from her cousin.

She looked up as her father let out a surprised little sigh sharing a look with Willas as he did the same. “Bad news?” She asked as he stirred his sugar into his tea absentmindedly. It couldn’t be, not really not with the indifferent look on his face as he looked at her from over the top of his letter. “For some.” He replied, “I do suspect there will be tears in the Baratheon household today.” Willas frowned, “Yes?” he asked making it clear he expected his father to continue. “Yes,” Mace continued. “apparently the Stark boy was killed last week. Bullet to the head. I do believe the Baratheon girl was sweet on him, wasn’t she Margaery? You know more about these things than I do.” He said waiting for an answer

Dead.

Bullet to the head.

The words felt like a blow to the centre of her chest. He was only twenty one he couldn’t be dead. Men (boys)much younger than he had been killed. She felt bile rise in her throat. The Stark boy? It didn’t have to mean Robb. His brother was fighting as well wasn’t he? But any mention of Myrcella all but confirmed it. Swallowing down the nausea that had crawled up her throat she suddenly felt too hot. Sitting back in her chair Margaery looked at her father incredulously and waited for him to tell her that he had made some sort of mistake, that it was a different Stark, that it wasn’t Robb. It was his uncle or his brother or maybe even a Karstark? She had just heard him wrong. That’s all it could be.

But no word came. No follow up comment to offer her any kind of comfort. 

He was dead.

She stood quickly, her chair scraping noisily across the parquet floor bringing every eye in the room to her. “Excuse me.” She managed to choke out her breathing coming hard and fast as she lifted a hand to rest over her heart. She felt as though she was gulping air into her lungs but none of it was getting there. Walking as quickly as her skirts would allow she made her way out of the room and down the corridor towards the main staircase.

All she could hear was the tapping of her heels on the wooden floors and the way her breath hitched, fighting against her corset to clear her head. She walked quickly having to shove past a few servants as she went. She managed to get as far as the library before her legs nearly buckled. Grabbing the coving of the doorway Margaery ignored the bemused look the young footman gave her from the end of the corridor as she dragged herself into the room and slammed the door shut. 

Only when she was alone did she allow her grief to engulf her. It was like a tidal wave of realisation. He was dead. The Starks would be wearing black at next weeks luncheon. She felt as though the whole of England was wearing black, black for another dead son, black for another wannabe hero who managed to prove nothing more than his own mortality. But they wouldn’t be wearing black for just another dead son, this time it would be for Robb. For her Robb and she wouldn’t be able to express her grief with them. Sinking to her knees she let out a strangled cry as the weight of the news buried her and lifted a hand to her throat in some vain attempt to capture the noise less anyone hear.

Just as tears began to blur her vision she felt strong arms wrap around her shoulders and she was pulled down into a familiar embrace. But it wasn’t the one she wanted. Beating her fists against Willas’ chest she began to sob noisily. He must have followed her when she excused herself. It must have been his gasp that she heard when their father read the letter to them and dismissed it like it didn’t matter. Like Robb didn’t matter. She pushed against his chest suddenly angry, it wasn’t fair none of it was fair. She didn’t want comfort she wanted to turn back the clock. She wanted to go back to the previous autumn when Robb had been tangible and here and alive. To when he had been stood in this very room kissing the air out of her lungs and whispering confessions of loveinto her ear. 

She wanted Robb not her brother. 

Willas’ only response was to hold her tighter.

Time passed and Margaery settled into the embrace. Eventually she let her arms hang loosely by her side as all the strength was beaten out of them. It was then that Willas began to gently rock her in a way that reminded her of being a child in her mother’s arms but this couldn’t be fixed with a shush and a pat on the head. 

She watched the shadows grow and move across the floor and lost herself in her head. She remembered fevered admissions of love and whispered plans for the future. She’d always known he wouldn’t be able to marry her and the idea had been the worst thing she could have imagined. He had been hers and she didn’t want to share him even though she had known that she would have to. But oh Lord what she wouldn’t give to have him back and alive and married to Myrcella Baratheon with a long line of children trailing behind them. 

She didn’t know how long they had been sat there, hunched together on the floor but she suddenly felt cold. “Your leg.” She said surprised when her voice came out in a croak. He moved to look down at her a concerned look on his face, “You can’t stay down here.” She said lifting her head from his shoulder and looking around the room, “Doesn’t it hurt?” She carried on and looked up at her brother with a bemused look on her face as he looked as though he wanted to cry, “I’ll stay down here as long as you do.” He replied in a tone that invited no argument as he pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear.


	5. Reality

Margaery stood before the mirror hanging on the door of her wardrobe and practised her most dazzling smile. It looked sincere enough; it even managed to bleed into her eyes a little. At least nobody expected her to smile as brightly as she had before anymore. After Robb’s death she had been forced to play a game that had damn near killed her.

The news of Robb’s death had shattered her, she hadn’t left her room for a week, feigning an illness that none of her family quite believed to be true. Only Willas had known the truth and she had been forced to endure lingering looks from him for months. Shattered as she was, she had continued, smiling at luncheons and flirting at dinners. She had charmed them all into believing that nothing was wrong because if she could make them believe it, then perhaps it could be true? 

Leaning towards the mirror she couldn’t help but notice how the stress of the situation had taken its toll. Her hair was limp and her skin sallow, she thought bitterly as she swept her fingers across her cheek. Turning her attention away from the dark bags under her eyes she ran a hand down the bodice of her black dress, taking a moment to admire it. Her palms ran over the intricate beading as she checked that everything was in place. Today they were expecting a guest for the first time since they’d had the news. They may well be in mourning but it did not mean that standards had to slip. 

He wouldn’t have wanted that. 

The telegram had arrived a fortnight after she had learned of Robb’s death but her father had not read this piece of news out at the breakfast table. He had dropped the telegram on the table and shut himself in his study. Willas had frowned before picking up the paper only reading it to confirm which of his brothers wouldn’t be coming home. 

He had tried to explain the details of Loras’ death to her then, and several times since but Margaery had shouted him down. She didn’t want to think of Loras dead, lying alone in the mud. Had he cried out for mother? She wanted to remember him alive, she wanted to remember him laughing and chasing her around the corridors of Highgarden. She wanted to remember him so alive. She couldn’t help but see him in every corner of Highgarden and as comforting as it had been to begin with she was starting to think that she would go mad if she didn’t escape the ghost of his memory soon. 

Loras was dead and they didn’t even have a body to bury. 

Her brother’s death had provided her with one outlet at least; she was finally able to mourn. She was able to frown and brood and stare into the middle distance without having to explain herself. She mourned for her brother openly, but sometimes her thoughts would turn to another young man lost to the French mud. Her mind filled with the image of red curls and shy smiles, and her heart ached. She remembered that just like Loras he would have no grave, and guilt battled with the grief that floated about her ribcage perpetually. 

It was moments like that that chased the breath from her lungs and left her clutching at her chest. An embarrassing position that more than one servant had found her in, hiding in dark corners of the house. 

The bedroom door closed quietly behind her and she made her way to the stairs. Highgarden had always been so full of light and noise and joy; it was odd to walk the corridors with the mirrors covered. It was unusual to not hear the faint noise of music filtering from beneath a door, unheard of to hear the muffled sound of sobbing creep under closed doors. Highgarden had always been so full of life and Margaery feared that it would never be so again. 

Walking into the dining room Margaery couldn’t help but notice the way the black mourning attire washed out her family’s complexion . They were officially in mourning so all of the Tyrells were swathed in black cloth; all except for Willas, who was still in his khaki green. When would this damn war be over? 

Willas looked up from the eggs he was pushing about on his plate and smiled up at his little sister. “Good Morning, Margaery,” he said as she sat down beside him. 

“Good morning,” she said, reaching for the teapot in the middle of the table, ignoring the look that Willas gave to her empty plate. Her appetite had left her the day she had found out about Robb, and did not look like returning any time soon. 

“You should eat something.” He started to admonish her, the words dying in his throat as he caught the look she gave to his plate as he pushed the food around aimlessly. Finally giving in, he dropped his fork and ran a hand over his face. “Please tell me you’re sleeping at least?” he asked, looking at her and knowing instinctively that she wasn’t. 

“Like a baby.” she said, sipping at her tea, not thinking about how easily the lie tripped out of her mouth. She saw the slight frown on her brothers lips, but was thankful when he changed the topic. 

“Are you ready for our guest?” he asked leaning back in his chair and sipping on his own tea, his clever brown eyes not missing a thing as he waited for her reply. 

She frowned at the thought of their guest. Renly Baratheon would be sitting on the train now, travelling up from London to see them. Loras and Renly had been close, Margaery knew that much, but what else could he have possibly wanted? There was no room in the house for his grief as well as theirs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to people for their advice on where to go with this. I struggled for a (long) while but FINALLY the update has arrived.
> 
> Thanks to Niamh and Brad for helping me!

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a WIP. I am aiming for historical accuracy so if you see anything that looks squiffy let me know!
> 
> Please leave constructive comments. <3


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